


Sound of a Trembling Heart

by Verasteine



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-01
Updated: 2009-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:51:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verasteine/pseuds/Verasteine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grief and love and everything in between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sound of a Trembling Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://misswinterhill.livejournal.com/profile)[**misswinterhill**](http://misswinterhill.livejournal.com/), for the fabulous beta, and [](http://kilawater.livejournal.com/profile)[**kilawater**](http://kilawater.livejournal.com/), for letting me rant while she's driving me around.

_You used to pray  
Listen to the black raven sing_

It's with Jack's head against his abdomen and Jack's tears staining his shirt that Ianto doesn't know what to do any more. Jack on his knees in front of him, shaken apart by circumstance, by loss, is not what was in the cards. Nowhere in the foreseeable path of Ianto's life did it ever list _comforting your immortal lover_. He is clueless.

His hand is in Jack's hair, trying to smooth it down, which it never will. What part of his life came down to this? Not his unadventurous youth, nor his unassuming array of jobs that weren't a career. He spent so many nights in Jack's arms, held tightly through silence and unshed tears, and took comfort without thinking. It was not reminiscent of anything in his past; not the cups of tea and careful patting of his head (his mother), nor the aborted attempts at conversation and the exasperation of misunderstanding (his father).

Jack's knees must be hurting, Ianto thinks when he realises how many times he's run his hand over Jack's shoulders in the last few minutes. He supposes physical comfort is less important than emotional comfort, but decides to sink down to the ground anyway. Jack clings when he does, and it takes Ianto a few seconds to extricate himself enough to sit on the floor.

For a moment, Jack looks at him, confused. Ianto doesn't recall ever having looked like that, not at Jack, nor at Lisa. And he can't recall either if he's ever been held like this before that, can't remember if his life included this sort of public consolation. He fleetingly thinks of how much it pales, life before Torchwood, running a hand, intuitively and without thought to the motion, over Jack's wet cheek.

Jack moves in, pressing his face against Ianto's neck; Ianto notes his shirt collar will have a damp spot later, and his tie will be ruined. He slips his arms around Jack's shoulders and Jack settles closer.

Jack calms, no longer shaking like he's about to fly apart, but nonetheless still in hiding against Ianto's skin. He's had Jack in his arms so often, it seems strange that this time it's so different. He holds on because it is expected, required, and required is what he will do for Jack. That, and all else that is needed beyond.

\--  
_You wanted to believe  
As you were falling to your knees_

Ianto is sitting on the floor, on his knees, sobbing into his blood smeared fingers. Jack has lowered and holstered his Webley, but for a moment he doesn't know what to do next. The room is soaked, the floor littered with puddles of water and the two dead bodies that Jack cannot ignore.

The others are putting their guns down, hands trembling. Owen rolls his shoulders and Gwen flexes her arms. Jack looks at each of them briefly, feeling the responsibility of making sure that the cleanup will resolve the crisis, put it behind them. He motions for all of them to holster their weapons, and when Tosh seems to have trouble loosening her grip, he reaches over and carefully uncurls her fingers from the metal.

"It's okay," he tells her softly, and she gives him the same look she gave him the first time she'd fired a lethal shot.

He hands her the weapon and she holsters it, giving him a small smile before her face falls again, and she glances at Ianto.

Ianto, who is still sobbing on the floor, only aware of how broken his world is, dead to anything else.

Jack assesses, makes a quick decision. "Gwen, Owen, cleanup. Start by shutting off power and water in here, then take care of the bodies."

A curt nod from Owen; the one who has held his own throughout this crisis. Jack nods back, grateful that no one is arguing. Gwen opens her mouth, closes it, looks around the room and lands her gaze on Ianto.

"Jack..." she says, hesitance in her voice. "He... What will we do?"

The leap to _what will_ you _do_ is easily made, and he reads it in the three pairs of eyes focussing on him. He clears his throat. "I'll take care of him."

He's only aware of how ominous that sounds when he sees the shock in Tosh's eyes and becomes aware of how, despite his earlier threats, he has no intention of doing anything to Ianto Jones. His anger burns, but so does his compassion.

He shakes his head at Tosh, turns to the other two and gives them the best hint of a smile he can manage under the circumstances, all the more aware of Ianto's silent grief ten feet away from them. "Tosh, go up to the hub and run a diagnostic. Check all our systems. Then come back down here and help Owen dismantle--" His voice threatens to waver, and he cuts his words off before it does. He swallows past the lump in his throat; the power of realisation, of what has happened here, what has been happening here, slamming into his body as the adrenaline seeps out of his system. "That," he finishes carefully, gesturing at the converter.

They all stand still, then Jack makes a hand motion, and they all move. He goes to Ianto's side, lays his hands on the young man's trembling shoulder. He has too many questions, but he shoves them back and grips Ianto, pulling him up.

Ianto struggles, suddenly, but grief strips the will and Jack tugs him away easily. He leads Ianto down the corridor and up the stairs with a hand on Ianto's back, pushing him forward, noticing how they both leave a trail of damp, bloody footprints. At the top of the stairs, he steers Ianto to the showers.

Ianto stands quietly, and Jack suppresses a sigh. He helps Ianto out of his clothes with quick, dispassionate fingers, ignoring the blood stains and dry sobs in one fell swoop. Ianto seems numb, unresponsive to Jack's actions. For now, it makes things easier. Neither of them speak.

He turns on the shower and pushes Ianto under the lukewarm spray. It doesn't rouse him, just rinses him down. Jack watches the clear water as it runs over Ianto's face and chest, and then looks at the pink tinged water that swirls into the drain. After five minutes, Ianto still stands motionless, and Jack has to lean in and turn the shower off again. He hands Ianto a towel and is relieved to see Ianto move to dry himself off. Jack retrieves soft jogging pants, a t-shirt, and socks from the lockers around the corner, and watches as Ianto puts the clothes on.

Ianto looks up and meets his eyes. Jack's anger flares at the burning grief and accusation in Ianto's gaze, but clamps down on that private emotion. Whatever she was, Lisa had been someone else once, someone who had deserved that love and loyalty. He buries the surge of irrational jealousy that threatens to surface, and steps forward to take Ianto's shoulder again, propelling him towards the door.

Ianto takes the sleeping tablet Jack feeds him without a word, and sits on the sofa, shivering. Jack looks at the young, exhausted picture in front of him, and when Ianto's eyelids begin to droop, he coaxes him into a horizontal position, covering him with the duvet from Jack's own bed.

\--  
_Struggling to stand  
With your life in your hand_

Ianto finds him on the roof, silhouetted against the sunlight. Wherever he returned from, Jack looks like he always did, but different. He sounds different, too, in the way he speaks; hesitant and awkward, not apologetic but maybe the version of apologetic that is Jack Harkness. And every part of Ianto that is angry with Jack is also hurting for Jack, for this strange need that is pouring off his former lover, his captain, the man who has dominated his life for the last year.

He doesn't know how to cross that bridge or articulate that empathy. He's never known that. He didn't have to with Lisa and hasn't shared enough intimacy with other past lovers to learn elsewhere. "Jack?" he says finally, not to announce his presence because he knows Jack is aware he's here, but to speak into the silence that otherwise might start speaking for itself.

Jack turns only slightly, and holds out a hand. "Hey."

Ianto wants to take that hand but doesn't know what the gesture represents. "I, eh..." He falters.

Jack turns fully now, smiles. "Come here," he says softly, and it's nothing like the awkward moment in the office, nothing like the hurt in Jack's eyes at Gwen's accusations, nothing like the stuttering attempt at an apology to them all the previous night in the hotel.

Ianto knows now that taking that hand and responding to that voice means going back, or going forward, into Jack's life. He tries one last time. "Jack--" But his mind supplies no further words.

And Jack steps away from the ledge, walking over, pulling him into his arms even as Ianto makes a faint sound of protest, and buries his face in Ianto's hair. "I'm sorry," he whispers quietly. Ianto can feel Jack's breath against his neck. "I missed you and I'm sorry. I-- Don't--"   
Now Jack's struggling for words, and Ianto still has none to offer. "Please," Jack says finally, and Ianto can't push him away any more.

\--  
_The sad last stand..._

Jack knows the date and has watched it approach for months. He's tried to see how it would affect Ianto, but can't get a hint out of him. He refuses to broach the subject with Ianto because he's not sure he should force it if Ianto doesn't want to talk, doesn't want to remember. Then the answer comes in the shape of an impersonal request for leave lying on his desk.

Ianto's neat handwriting and ticking of all the boxes tells him Ianto will go. And Jack signs on the dotted line, then runs a hand through his hair and bites his lip. Finally, he scribbles at the bottom, _Do you want me to come with you?_

Ianto takes the form back without a word, and never replies to the note. On the anniversary, he is absent.

Jack fidgets in between weevil hunts and alien artefacts, can't settle, and finally tells the team he has somewhere he needs to be. He drives to London with the sun already at his back, and worries he won't get there before Ianto departs.

Instead he finds Ianto at the memorial, sitting by himself and looking lost and very cold. He sits down next to Ianto, close so their thighs and shoulders are touching.

Ianto looks at him. "I didn't want you to come," he says softly, but accusation is missing from his tone.

Jack meets his eyes. "I thought so."

"Why did you?" Ianto asks.

Jack makes an apologetic face. "Because I couldn't let you face this alone. The service, yes, but--" He gestures purposelessly and falls quiet. He's failed to find an explanation for his own restlessness, and thinks that perhaps he himself couldn't bear the thought of being alone on this day.

Ianto rests his head on Jack's shoulder as if they always sit like this, and Jack carefully slides his arm around Ianto's waist. "I don't understand, Jack. Why so many? I can't-- I remember, the words they said, and I can't understand it."

_Delete. Exterminate._ Jack shivers at the memories. He has heard variations of it in his lifetime, has seen and understood that sort of hatred, fought it and fought for it. The belief of superiority of existence, not uncommon for Earth in this time, and a frightening motivator. He kisses Ianto's hair. "I know," he says, and thinks of Gray.

\--  
_...of a broken man_

Jack rests but rarely sleeps, and Ianto has come to accept this as a fact of life. Jack's inability to sleep is lined up alongside the other mysteries and Ianto prefers not to ask questions because they aren't like that, and because what they have is more important than answers are.

But three weeks after Jack starts staying the night, Jack sleeps and Ianto wakes. Jack is restless next to him, sweating, face lined with grief or fear, and Ianto finds himself sitting up. He reaches out to Jack and hesitates, turning on the light instead.

Jack startles awake with the terror still in his gaze, and for a moment Ianto wonders if he is recognised. Then Jack blinks and rubs the sleep from his eyes, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Sorry if I woke you."

Ianto starts to shake his head in politeness, but freezes. "Doesn't matter," he says.

Jack looks at him, raising his eyebrows. Ianto doesn't want to answer that unspoken challenge, doesn't want to ask, to pry, because Jack wouldn't, or maybe he would but Ianto might not want him to. Finally he settles on, "Are you okay?"

Jack smiles, slightly, but then something seems to give and his face falls, and Ianto thinks he sees moisture shine in Jack's eyes before Jack pushes away the duvet and gets up. "Fine," he replies in a tight voice, and walks naked out of Ianto's bedroom.

Ianto sits in bed in indecision still, watching the doorway through which Jack has disappeared, and listens for the front door even though Jack's clothes are in the room with him. At last he gets up.

Everything was easier with Lisa, he thinks absently as he pulls on pyjama bottoms, and he pads down the hall to find Jack in the living room staring out the window. He switches on the kettle and sets out mugs with teabags and milk.

When the kettle pings, Jack comes over and wordlessly takes a mug from him, sipping it slowly as he leans against the kitchen counter. Ianto wants to ask and at the same time doesn't want to know, or be rejected, so he watches Jack in profile as he drinks.

Jack turns his head and looks at him. "I have nightmares," he states. "Sometimes." _Just like everyone else._ "It's nothing."

Ianto remembers waking up from his own horrors, finding Jack's arms around him and burying himself in that strength. He wants to touch Jack and doesn't know how. The last time, before Torchwood, he might have been nine years old, and his mother would cuddle him and bring him warm milk as his father watched silently from the doorway. He remembers that kind of touch, but doesn't recall ever touching like that.

The silence stretches between them until Jack sets his empty mug on the counter. The thud of the mug and clang of the spoon against ceramic wake Ianto from his reverie, and he says Jack's name.

Jack turns, looks at him, and steps into Ianto's embrace. As Ianto winds his arms around Jack's shoulders and feels Jack's heart pound against his own chest, he wonders when he fell in love with Jack.

\--  
_I wanted to believe  
As I watched your world crumble in your hands_

Jack comes back to reality in Ianto's arms, his knees aching, his eyes stinging, and his throat raw. He croaks out a few words and hears Ianto's, "Ssh..." above him, Ianto's fingers stroking the hair on his nape.

He's settled against Ianto's chest, face pressed into Ianto's neck, comfortable and soft and warm. Ianto's shirt is damp where his fingers are clinging to it, and he remembers -- the pain, the grief, the memories that were shaking him apart until Ianto held the pieces together.

He sits up, away from Ianto but not too far, and rubs his hands over his face. "Thank you," he manages to get out, and looks at Ianto properly.

Ianto's eyes are red rimmed, his face is taut. Jack reaches out to trace his fingers over Ianto's skin, feeling Ianto shudder and understanding how close they both are to crumbling.

"Let's go to bed," he says softly, and it's not a come on, although it could be.

Ianto takes his hand and laces their fingers, and Jack feels how he trembles. He squeezes those fingers, and as Ianto moves to get up, Jack leans in and brushes his lips over Ianto's mouth. Ianto stills, still crouched, and nods. Jack runs the back of his hand over Ianto's cheekbone. "Thank you," he whispers softly.

\--  
_finis._


End file.
